Engineering Solution

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Mighty Jacksparrow is an Earth-based sub-intergalactic blogger who enjoys writing and in the same time entertaining his ever-amusing will-kill-to-read fans with sensationally hilarious and at times dramatic musings. This blog offers endless ideas and results; they might be charming most of the times but could be offending in some others. Therefore, it is always noble to remind that if you enjoy the pieces, carry on reading, but if they upset you, do quietly leave like the evening breeze and not like exploding diarrhea, which exactly what you will look like if you ever lose it on me. Enjoy! :D

Sunday, April 17, 2011

"We've gotta do something, damn it," said one of the young lads in the group. There were more than fifty people there in that gathering that took place at the little town hall. They were the citizens of Middlefinger, a secluded small town quite a distance away from the capital of the Faraway Kingdom. They were gathering to discuss over one of the biggest challenges the town was facing; an even greater event since The Big Bra Bombard that took place some time back that caused the market price of bra worldwide to plummet due to excessive production of bra in Middlefinger, which was at the time the world's biggest bra producer, where all children, adult and oldies there were world-certified bra makers. The Big Bra Bombard refers to the event where the large bra production facility owned by the town was bombarded with rocks launched from catapults operated by angry mobs of bra makers from other sides of the world in a desperate race to gain back their controls over the worldwide bra market price.

To which they successfully did.

"Yeah, we have to do something," another young lad broke the silence that had since becoming to annoy many there but none had the guts to say something up, and what a relief somebody else did. "We have to kill the bear."

Surrounded by thick forests, the town of Middlefinger was, due to that, surrounded with many dangerous and deadly beasts. Among these and happened to be the most troublesome is The Bear. With a weight of almost a ton, The Bear always hit the city at night and threw big rocks into rooftops directly above the bedrooms, or more specifically the area directly above the belly of the people who slept in the bedrooms. This so far had caused many people to suffer from very terrible pain right at the lower part of their abdomens, whereby some others, due to the incorrectness of the trajectory calculations done by The Bear, had died when the rocks landed on their heads instead of their belly. And this had made many people angry.

"Kill The Bear!" the first lad screamed in anger, followed by many other angry people, since this had been the easiest way to make ad-hoc decisions in Middlefinger - by majority showmanship. "Kill The Bear! Kill The Bear!" they all screamed.

But native to everyone's perspective, when it comes to making decisions, there has to be someone who has to be the spoiler by placing a benefit of doubt in that decision. And this person for this event happened to be the Town Mayor, who also happened to be the most pessimistic fellow ever alive in Middlefinger.

"Well, sure, that's very" the Mayor said. "But who, among all you cowards, me included, would do it? Who'd kill The Bear?"

And so the town hall went quiet again, as fairly expected. It stayed like that for almost an hour until suddenly the hall's door was opened with pitching creaks, to which everyone looked at instantly. And there stood a tough-looking young man with a physical appearance so excitingly gorgeous that many women flushed in seconds when they looked at him. He dressed like a big-time hunter, and at the back of him hung a long-range big-bore twin-barrel rifle, strengthening the initial idea that he was indeed a big-time hunter.

"That's the guy!" screamed the first lad with his finger pointed at the hunter. "He's our guy! He'll kill The Bear and save this town from future miseries!" And so everyone else did the same thing to support the idea, except the Mayor who at the time spit at one of the hall's pillar to show his disapproval, for whatever reason that was.

Although in the mind of the hunter he did not have any damn idea of what was going on, he quickly decided to take the job, firstly because he heard the word 'kill', which happened to be his favorite job and past-time activity, and secondly because he heard the word 'The Bear', to which he assumed must be his next victim of his favorite job and past-time activity. And therefore, the idea 'to kill The Bear' pleased him very much. He nodded in style, showing his agreement in helping the citizens, and therefore put an end to their miseries, whatever their miseries were.

And the people of Middlefinger cheered in excitement.

* * *

The morning was foggy.

The hunter walked slowly into the forest with his rifle in hands, all locked and loaded. He paid a lot of attention to his surroundings and look for any sign of The Bear. Other than a few groups of young town lads raping some damsels, to which he did not do anything about because it was not a part of his job scope, he did not find anything so far. The day seemed not to be so productive, and it was only his first day on the job. He was quite frustrated and wanted to return to the town when he suddenly heard some noise from behind a small hill in front of him.

He threw himself onto the green moss on the forest floor and crawled towards the sound. From beneath those little shrubs he saw The Bear throwing pebbles at a circular board with a red dot in the middle, hung on a tree. The Bear was definitely perfecting its art of throwing to increase its throwing accuracy. What a damn luck, the Hunter thought. And so he aimed his rifle at The Bears head, unlocked the rifle and took a long breath before re-aiming, and after he was sure of all things he pulled the trigger.

The forest was shaken by the sound and smoke the gun made.

After the smoke settled, he looked for The Bear but found nothing. He was puzzled. He raised his head to find a clearer view, when suddenly his shirt was pulled from the back hard. Seconds later, he found himself hanging in the air by his shirt, and as he rotated he ended up looking into the eyes of The Bear. The Bear's ear was bleeding, indicating that the Hunter missed his target, and The Bear did not look very happy. Within seconds The Bear stripped the Hunter's clothes down to nothing, and by looking at the angry and somewhat lusty look on The Bear's face, the Hunter knew that he's screwed.

"Prepare, human," The Bear said. The Hunter was entirely surprised: first, The Bear could talk; second, he definitely was gonna get screwed, literally.

And the silent forest again by noises, this time long, painful screams.

* * *

The second morning.

The Hunter again walked into the forest with his rifle and a cane. His lower back was still burning in pain from the event yesterday, where he was sexually assaulted and raped by The Bear. And this pulsating pain from his lower back burned him in anger, and this time he swore he'll kill The Bear even with his bare hands. No one should know that he was raped. No one.

He went passed three groups of men each raping a lady, a female goat and an oak tree, and still didn't give a damn about them. In his mind was to kill The Bear. He checked his rifle every now and then to make sure that it was locked and loaded, as he walked slowly with the help of the cane until he reached at the place where he first saw The Bear, and where he was later raped by, well, The Bear.

He slowly approached the small hill, and as expected, The Bear was there, still throwing pebbles at the circular board. He did not wait long this time. He aimed his rifle straight to The Bear's neck, and tried hard not to move at all. As his confidence emerged, he unlocked the rifle and fired upon the beast, and the forest was again shaken by the sound and smoke the gun made.

When the smoke settled, the Hunter was sure that it was finally over. He stayed still for a while to make sure that there was nothing else moving, to make sure that The Bear was really dead. And he did not hear anything. The Bear was dead. It was finally dead. He let out a long relief. The long day was over.

It was not long until he was pulled hard from his back and hung in the air by his shirt again. He went pale as he rotated slowly to face The Bear, that at the time had another ear bleeding from the Hunter's shot. And The Bear did not look happy at all.

"Why you!" the Hunter tried to punch The Bear but the beast was merely being faster than him, catching his arm with his big paw and within seconds again the Hunter was stripped naked. The Hunter's face depicted the horror he was facing. All of a sudden, the pain in his ass started to remind him of something.

"Please," he said. "Please, no, I beg you, please."

"Prepare, human."

And the silent forest again by noises, this time longer, more painful screams.

* * *

Third time.

The Hunter navigated his way with two arm crutches through the forest. In all hardship he made his way while pulling a semi-sized bronze cannon on wheels, all armed and powdered. His plan this time was clear: he will shoot The Bear in pieces with the bombard, and he was pretty sure the bombard could, since the device was designed to bomb a hole through a thick castle wall with a single shot and destroy the whole structure with the second. The cannon was just the weapon he needed to kill the bugger who had raped him twice.

The pain in his ass pulsated hard.

He pulled the cannon with so much hardship. Fueled with determination and anger, he went all vendetta. He wanted his revenge. That bastard must die.

When he reached the place, passing all the same three groups of rapist doing a cow, a manatee and a freshwater fish, he settled his cannon and calculated the cannonball projection. He loaded the super-bomber detonating cannonball he bought for a fortune specifically for this job for more killing power. Once ready, supported by his crutches he fired the cannon and the forest shook so bad at least some small animals and trees died instantly from the shock.

Once the cannonball landed, it exploded with a bang so loud more animals and trees died. The detonation created a crater the size of a medium pond and sent everything flying in the air. After the explosion, things started to settle down, flying things landed, and one of these things was The Bear's target practice circular board that landed exactly in front of the Hunter.

The hunter shed a tear and said his gratitudes for the miseries of the small town of Middlefinger and his were finally over. There was no way anything could survive that explosion. He felt relieved and joyful.

But not for long.

When he turned around to walk back towards the town, he was suddenly pulled back hard by his shirt and hung in the air again. As he rotated in the air he found himself again eye-to-eye with The Bear, that at the time was covered with dusts.

Oh no, said the Hunter again in his heart. Don't tell me I missed again.

The Bear looked at him in confusion. The human hanging in its paw was the best hunter the world could ever offer, with such bravery, determination and strength to kill, with such firepower that could rattle a small city in a simple attack, but why did he missed his target so many times? As it tried to generate some very rational answers in its mind as the Hunter rotated in its paw, it could only come out with one very strong conclusion.

"Human," The Bear said, as he proceeded to undress the Hunter before it smiled at him and continued:

I am not currently new to social network websites people nowadays get indulged in. Apart from Friendster that I have left inactive for almost two years now, I am currently active in Twitter and Facebook. And apart from all joy of seeing all the lively updates these people whom I am connected to posted, I started to see some very clear patterns of what a smaller group of these people tended to do each time they updated their Facebook status or tweeted in Twitter.

They complained.

Well I don't mind people complaining about things, since I myself sometimes do in order to express certain disagreements I have with things I have issues with. Nevertheless I tried not to complain a lot since I figured that it did not only bring any solution to things but also made me look like a super-pampered baby princess. Well I don't want that. And then again, who does? Alas, I know some of these people in my Twitter and Facebook that do.

To complain moderately is considerable, but these hardcore people they do not only complain but swear, throw tantrums, go nuts over things and unknowingly destroy their public image. They don't complain moderately, or say, properly and politely. They just go all in, everything goes, all of them. Well, sure, you're the kind of punk who doesn't give a damn about what people think of you. Yes, fine enough. But come on, you seriously don't?

It's never wrong to complain. People will see that you are critical about things and they can safely draw your personality using these complains you lodged previously in their knowledge. But what would people think when you lodge like a FUCKLOAD of complains? Well, since you have so much time complaining, why don't you do something about it?

Sure, you didn't like your roommate singing in the middle of the night; why didn't you go to her, slap her in the face and slam it into your knee or something? That could deliver a point.

Sure, you didn't like the way your maid did your Milo in the morning; why didn't you just make the damn thing yourself? That could make a difference.

Sure, you didn't like the way you like her but didn't have the guts to tell her; why don't you grab some balls and do it like a man? That could end some bits of your misery.

Sure, you didn't like the way the BN won the election and how their candidates did their jobs; why didn't you go in as one of the opposing candidates and secure a winning streak? We all would like to see just how you execute the duties.

I am not sorry that you complained, neither that I would be sorry if you didn't. I am sorry that you complained excessively and not doing anything about it. Come on now, do something that matters. Unless you can do something about it, might as well just leave it aside, or complain a little and move on.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

It had been sincerely some times since I last met and saw real men at work. What exactly I mean by real men is any man who is tough enough to go through any physical stress and live through with it. And what I mean by physical stress is not necessarily running around in the middle of a war zone carrying a 14kg multipurpose machine gun on the shoulder while holding a Gurkha knife in between the teeth like Rambo did, or going to space to drill a damn hole up on a runaway asteroid like the boys in Armageddon did.

Even the tabletop fan stops spinning when Rambo is around, just so
that he sweats more. More sweat, more heroic.

What I mean by physical stress is the ability to carry out certain duties that require specific masculine powers and although women can do it, the jobs really belong to men. For instance: home fixing, mowing the lawn, protecting belongings and properties, heavy duty lifting works and all other physically-demanding errands from the surrounding. As much as these duties may be performed safely, someone could sometimes, as easily, get sweaty, tired, and more often, hurt.

Looking at the younger generation, they think twice to do all these.

"I don't want to do the cleaning works, I might get infected from germs."

"I don't want to fix the pipe. It's dirty and disgusting."

"I don't want to mow the lawn, it's hot and I might get sweaty."

"I don't want to carry the books upstairs, I might break my back."

Urgh, what are you, a girl?

Take a look at your pale, soft skin; have you ever been walking under the sun lately? Take a look at your baby-skin palm and smooth fingers; have you ever hold a damn wrench? Look at your fine body without even a single cut; do you know how it hurts when you get a cut? That muscles you build up at the gym surely look impressive; ever helped around the house with all your overloaded strength, or is it for appearance purposes only?

You're not a queer, are you?

I cannot stand men who complains about being dirtied up, tired and sweaty from doing errands that obviously expose them to such consequences. It's entirely normal to get cut from sharp edges while fixing a car engine; get burnt from accidentally touching a hot radiator pipe; get dirtied and oiled from point contacts on mechanical parts; get sweaty from the heat, the work and anything else related. Completely normal, completely expected.

Despite his devotion to handling the oil blowout, Jim does not realize about another problem
that awaits him at home when his wife soon looks at what majestic laundry disaster she has to handle.

You don't need to send the car all the way to the workshop just to get the radiator reserve water tank filled up. You can do it yourself. But believe it or not, I have seen this happened when I sent my car for regular service at a local automotive workshop. Came someone I knew later to the workshop while I was smoking at an end of the premise. When asked, he said he wanted to fill up his radiator water tank. And he happened to be a male Mechanical Engineering student of mine.

Wait, seriously?

I wish that some of the males can get their hands into practical works. There was one time at the open laboratory workshop when suddenly a machine broke down, causing broken primary coolant fluid line to shower the whole floor with smelly, gooey liquid. I was there operating on another machine, and there were a few others too. When that breakdown happened, only three persons attended the situation, me included, while the rest of them so-called future engineers stood aside with folding arms. We were very disappointed, really.

Hey, big shots, mind helping us out here for a bit? Or you rather stand there and watch? Why, worried that your Klein's shirt got messed up? Mama told you not to play with dirt?

There was one time last year when I was supposed to visit a palm oil plantation with this one guy from another academic institution to collect some in-situ biomass samples. We agreed to go to the plantation at around 9.00am. When the time came and we met up, he asked to reschedule because 'it is hot out there'. And I snapped right away.

The man is, literally, hot.

Hello? What the HELL are you talking about? Where do you think we live at, Siberia? Well of course it's hot out there! It has to be hot! We live near the equator, everyone knows that. What do you expect, we do the sample collection at night? Or in the rain perhaps?

But we went to the plantation despite his comments on the weather. And then came another complain: mosquitoes.

Eh, hello! You knew that we're going to a plantation. Of course one will expect the presence of mosquitoes, elephants, snakes, wild boars, maybe some wartime active bombs, all these kind of things. And why are you wearing shorts? What SHIT is this? You think, what, we're going to a funfair, is it? Now the mosquitoes bit you, what do you expect me to do? Call an ambulance? Turn the place into a desert with napalm air strikes and artillery bombing to kill all mosquito population?

You just imagine how I suffered that 4 hours with him.

But that's the thing. Some of these men are beginning to be so bloody soft that they cannot stand biting mosquitoes. I think that these men should spend more times outside than in front of their computers or comics or Wii or whatever activities best carried out indoors. A lot of things we can help out there, and apart from the fact that it brings goodness to physical health, it also helps to boost some morale points up.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Despite my love for the academic (note: the academic, not educating) and the spirit to continue my research in PhD level, I had a second thought.

This second thought I had was sometime few weeks back when I was fixing the production pipeline for my high temperature gas reactor. As I was sitting with my back leaning against the high wall of the newly-acquired laboratory and my hands were busy applying PTFE tape on some valve and pipe connections, it occurred to me just how wonderful it was during my days back in Malaysia Marine & Heavy Engineering, or simply MMHE.

I was assigned to two different departments but still under the same wing division that is Engineering & Construction (E&C). On the first day, I was given a set of top jacket and pant of matching color, a safety goggle, a safety cling-lock belt and a pair of safety boot.

For the first four months I spent my days in the Commercial Estimation Department, specifically in Mechanical & Piping Disciplines. My daily work revolved around checking P&ID, suppliers' quotations, Material Take-Offs (MTO) and reviewing PDMS drawings and meeting people, among every other job. I was kind of disliking it, since I have to work in an air-conditioned environment so I have to drink a lot, and God knows how much coffee I had in that four months. The office was located at the highest floor of the three-story building, and there was this balcony where I usually spent my morning with a stick of cigarette and a mug of coffee, enjoying the scenery overlooking the enormous fabrication yards and dry docks. Usually there will be one mat salleh accompanying, who also happened to be the boss of the Commercial Bidding Department next door. A nice guy, really.

KIKEH FPSO - the common sight seen from the balcony back then

During that period of four months I have been involved with a range of projects from variety of major companies. I have dealt with some rejuvenation projects at SSB platforms, ExxonMobil's Jerneh Development Project, PETRONAS's Puteri Cluster Project, Exmar's semi-submersible repair project and some related others like Abu Cluster and KIKEH. The work hour was 8.00am to 5.00pm but I usually stayed back until 8.00pm or further, and one time up till 3.30am in the morning to prepare the submission document to Petronas that has to reach the lobby of the Twin Tower by 8.00am on the same day. It was hell, really, but I soon began to like it.

I sort of like hellish situation.

For the following four months I was reassigned into the Angel Gas Project, a Project Management Team (PMT) based construction and fabrication project. With Woodside Australia being our client, we were to build a topside (the engineering term for the platform complex) within the given time frame. And again I was assigned to the Piping Discipline, but this time it was different. This time I dealt with real engineering world.

And so my used-to-be-so-clean uniform started changing color. There were oil stains, dirt, metal chips, welding ash, mud and other things, and I started to smell like a damn dried fish. I no longer stayed long in the office; I had to run around to the warehouse to check for materials, bring with myself forms, drawings and other documents to the fabrication yard, handled client and contractor meeting, and more. I usually stayed at work from 8.00am until 11.00pm everyday, and sometimes more.

Why would I be spending so much time at work? Because I like it.

I like the smell of saltwater lingering in the air, and the smell of burning metal after undergoing acetylene cut. I like the smell of rotting steel, the smell of thick grease and heavy oil in the air. I like the sea more than ever. The sight of faraway land across the Tebrau Channel - Singapore - made my day. That piece of flat land appeared adorable in the morning, in the afternoon, and at night. It appeared lovely during foggy morning and rainy evening. I usually went to the shore at the shiplift facility at the end of the yard and opened my jacket and sat there on the shoreline rocks enjoying a can or two of chilled coke while admiring the sunset from 6.00pm till 7.00pm every damn day. It was nice, really.

At night usually they did the dry-docking procedures. Sometimes when a ship needed a touch-up or a makeover, it was brought into the huge dry dock for marine repair works. The docking and tie-in jobs were done at night for the water line was stable and calmer, and because the work itself was pretty damn dangerous. Had yourself a snapped metal cable the size of your arm flying at you, and that's it - you're a dead man. But the most pleasant sight of all was when the ship entered (or left) the dry dock with gallant lightings and majestic horn. It was very beautiful.

My favorite Puteri Firus that docked twice in MMHE during my time

All in all, I missed the applied engineering world, best described as the heavy fabrication and construction industry. With my masters completing, I am now looking forward to be absorbed back into this lovely field of mine and I soon will be meddling back in oil and sweats again.

Monday, April 04, 2011

One dumb fella recently asked another dumb fella who is twice as dumb, that is me, about how to please a loved one. Hmm. Tricky one. Not that I could not come out with anything that I could make out of nothing at all just for the sake of providing the answer he needed; I was just being dumbfounded myself. I'm twice as dumb, remember?

So they said that,

Admire your man and you will earn his love; appreciate your woman and you will earn hers.

Albeit it sounds as easy, it is not. To admire and to appreciate are just words that describe humanly behavior towards something of interests, but how exactly both actions are done might require a little bit of explanation.

Since this very same question might have popped out in all of your beautiful minds whether or not caused by the statement of inquiry proposed to me by the dumb fella above, I might just follow through and carry out the explanation part of how exactly one can please one's loved one. And since that more than two-third majority - the same quantity of seats required to determine which party becomes the country's ruling government - of the readers of this blog are women, I have decided to only explain on how to please a man than to elaborate on pleasing both man and women. This is fairly justified by the fact that women these days might have lost the diva touch when it comes to handling men, therefore the needs for me to assist in providing the solutions for you hopeless females to think and act appropriately.

So how does a woman pleases her man?

* * *

Men are interesting creatures.

Men normally have the superior ability when compared to women in many aspects. They can perform physically and mentally better. They have a sense of competitions and dare to take even the most impossible challenges. But as often as they go, they appear to be useless when it comes to certain things, for example folding clothes and taking care of babies.

That is why we have women.

In order for balance to take place, men and women find themselves in pair so that each can take care of the other one's errands that he or she cannot carry out properly for themselves. Although many claim that they can take care of themselves well henceforth the needs to have a partner becomes irrelevant, we all cannot argue that no one can heroically handle loneliness, despite how much one love oneself and how one tries to have sex with oneself, however that supposes to happen, anyway.

The relationship between men and women rocks at times. It's like going to the toilet in the morning. Sometimes you get some very easy flow. Sometimes things get rocky. Sometimes it takes times. Sometimes nothing comes out at all. Sometimes you get explosive diarrhea. Sometimes, even worst, the explosive diarrhea happens even before you have the chance to open your pants or get to the toilet. To top everything else, you don't have time to go to the toilet when you need to the most.

Therefore, regular makeups and controls are necessary in order to keep the balance and order in the relationship. This includes give and take, tolerance, discipline, principles and integrity, among all worth mentioning. Should the balance is disturbed, the couple may find themselves in trouble; they might be looking at a huge rock rolling down a steep hill in front of them and soon both get killed because one person pulls the other to one side and vice versa, and none gives in.

Hence to women, and some gays maybe, the needs to please your men are vitally, critically important. And same goes to men as well; pleasing your women (or your gay partners, whichever applies) is dead important too.

Pleasing men is not as easy, for men come in different varieties.

But generally men like to be the top of everything. Nothing feels better than to be admired. Even though a man cannot be at the top of the world, at least being at the top of one's world is sufficient to boost his ego. You can never imagine how a very small compliment in the morning changes a man's whole day, especially if this compliment comes from a loved one. He might be a bowl of rotten shits at work, but a compliment on how he goes to work everyday from his wife gives him the drive to, despite how much he despise his workplace, how he hates his job, just because there is someone who believes in him he does nevertheless, and eventually make better things, miraculously.

Dearest women,

Show to the world just how he means to you. Write things up about him for people to see. Fill your Twitter, Facebook, your Tumbler, your blog and many more alternative to digital writing solutions with your thoughts about him. Show to the world that you belong to him, and he belongs to you. Because once a man does not feel belonged, he leaves, and most of the time, he does not come back. As long as you stay a home to him, no matter how much both of you argue and fight over things that it makes him leave, over time he will come back to you, just because home is where his heart is.

Be a home to him. Be his shelter.

Because despite all the masculinity, we men are afraid. We have frustrations. We have disappointments. We have regrets. We are uncertain. We are all insecure. No man is secure, no matter how secure he looks on the outside. This explains why rich men keep working for more money. We all cry. We all get lonely. Sometimes the loneliness is so painful that punching a wall might just help. We have all these. And not that the burden on our shoulders are not heavy enough for us to drag with us along the way, when you start to become just another rock in the bundle on our backs.

You don't see all these because most men wear masks of EGO.

If he doubts you, make him sure. Because that is all he wants. To be sure of you. That you are for real. You are not just a dancing doll. You are not just a visitor. You are not just an injured bird that soon flies away when you heal. You're not just another bloodsucker. He will constantly feel insecure just because losing you might mean to him as losing everything. This especially happens in unmarried couple, because the easiness of things to slip away is at a great probability. What if one day you leave? What if one day you stop loving him? He worries about that. Ergo, he needs constant reassuring. It'll be tiring, but it's gonna worth it if you love the man so much.

It's like your new Blackberry; you check for it every second or so in your pocket to make sure it's there, to a point that if the phone can talk, it'd be cursing at you for being so insecure. "Get a grip!" it'd say.

So show it to him. Show it to everyone else. Make him feels that he belongs to you. Romeo and Juliet wouldn't be so beautiful of a love story if no one knows about it. Perhaps it'd be an easy one. Perhaps none of them died for love, but from obesity and heart attack from becoming so fat and out of love. There's nothing beautiful there. There is no sense of belonging. Once the sense of belonging disappears, love disappears. And that's it, that's the end of love.

So don't be there.

As I said, you cannot imagine how a small compliment brightens a man's day ten times if it comes from a loved one. The amount of tricks to success he will pull from that will be unbelievable. This is why they said behind a successful man stands a successful woman. So make him worry less and sure more, and I am sure that things will work themselves out over times. Try that for a while and get back to me if it doesn't work. Then we'll work on something else. You can propose your questions to me at the comment section or my Facebook Fan Page.

Unless, of course, you don't love him that much.

* * *

Take on me, take me on,
I'll be gone, in a day or two.

'Take On Me' by A-Ha, taken from the album Hunting High and Low, 1985, Warner Bros. Records Norway.